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A little smut for humpday - their index is linked here if you would like to know more. Comments always appreciated.
***** ***** *****
Sometimes it's hard to remember that this is a performance, that there is an audience, and that some – maybe most – of Talen's attention is on that, not on him. He can't think that it won't matter if he arches just a little this way, or allows a hiss to escape underneath the choreographed moans, because Talen's broad hand is knotted in his hair, drawing his head back, bowing his back, and his lover will know. Will read him, without ever loosing track of the three duke's sons sprawled on the couches being tended and tempted by the rest of their troupe.
Talen will know and later, when he's used every essence of will that he has to stand and bow and walk away from this pretty cushioned room with strangers eyes on his bloodied back, Talen will pin him with eyes and arms and mop the truth of things from his bruised lips. It's uncanny. His lover has never yet left fears go uncomforted nor laziness unpunished, each to it's place, rewarded and punished with kisses or none.
And yet it's hard, stretched out on Jarret's frame with soft leather making the veins thunder in his wrists, and watching eyes hungry on the swell of his buttocks. Nothing was as naked as being tied like this, eyed like this, with only fleeting contact for all his skin hummed with feeling Talen's body only inches away from his. Bound other ways he didn't have to watch, and when he was the one to touch and taste and act it was easier to forget, but like this it is hard.
Hard but not impossible, and there was something between the jolting silver shocks of each cut and the curling heat of fingers sliding over oiled skin pushing furrows into flesh for the blood to streak. Somewhere between the scent of smouldering saffron and the sound of skin on skin and the taste of the gag strap in his mouth, there was undeniable lust and a feeling something like the swallows high in summer skies
Talen's tongue is hot and broad and unmistakable, snaking up from hip to jaw in a long lewd unfolding, and Talen's words are secret private things. The orgasm he gives up on a long low out breath, arched and bound and bleeding for their audience, that too is a private thing no matter who watches.
.
***** ***** *****
Sometimes it's hard to remember that this is a performance, that there is an audience, and that some – maybe most – of Talen's attention is on that, not on him. He can't think that it won't matter if he arches just a little this way, or allows a hiss to escape underneath the choreographed moans, because Talen's broad hand is knotted in his hair, drawing his head back, bowing his back, and his lover will know. Will read him, without ever loosing track of the three duke's sons sprawled on the couches being tended and tempted by the rest of their troupe.
Talen will know and later, when he's used every essence of will that he has to stand and bow and walk away from this pretty cushioned room with strangers eyes on his bloodied back, Talen will pin him with eyes and arms and mop the truth of things from his bruised lips. It's uncanny. His lover has never yet left fears go uncomforted nor laziness unpunished, each to it's place, rewarded and punished with kisses or none.
And yet it's hard, stretched out on Jarret's frame with soft leather making the veins thunder in his wrists, and watching eyes hungry on the swell of his buttocks. Nothing was as naked as being tied like this, eyed like this, with only fleeting contact for all his skin hummed with feeling Talen's body only inches away from his. Bound other ways he didn't have to watch, and when he was the one to touch and taste and act it was easier to forget, but like this it is hard.
Hard but not impossible, and there was something between the jolting silver shocks of each cut and the curling heat of fingers sliding over oiled skin pushing furrows into flesh for the blood to streak. Somewhere between the scent of smouldering saffron and the sound of skin on skin and the taste of the gag strap in his mouth, there was undeniable lust and a feeling something like the swallows high in summer skies
Talen's tongue is hot and broad and unmistakable, snaking up from hip to jaw in a long lewd unfolding, and Talen's words are secret private things. The orgasm he gives up on a long low out breath, arched and bound and bleeding for their audience, that too is a private thing no matter who watches.
.
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